Page 30 of Hunting Ground

He lunges before he can even finish, spittle flying from his lips and running down his jaw. I see a flash of movement behind him, but Ronan is a touch too slow. Jonah tackles me, the knife nicking my cheek just as I turn my head. A soft gasp leaves me, and tears burn at my eyes from the pain, but I refuse to stop moving.

I fight him, clawing at him with one hand and holding his wrist in the other. Digging my nails into his wrist, I sneer and hiss, feeling like a cornered cat rather than a human. “Get the fuck off of me!” I snarl, writhing when he pins me under his weight, his breath coming in hot, fetid puffs against my bleeding cheek. Distantly, I can feel the way his blood runs faster against my stomach, staining my hoodie and seeping into my t-shirt. Disgusting, I can’t help thinking to myself with some cold part of my brain that’s not fully engaged in this fight for my life.

I’ll have to burn this hoodie and shirt, if I get out of here in one piece.

He bears down on me, and my nails tighten on his wrist, the blade coming down slowly towards my face, towards my eye, just over my fucking eyelashes–

Without warning he’s jerked upward, a cry on his lips, and Ronan throws him hard against the platform. Before I can do more than gasp for air, Ronan has the knife skidding away on the pier and his hand is pressed to Jonah’s neck, pinning him against the platform white-knuckled.

“How dare you,” he murmurs, his eyes as dark as chips of obsidian. “How fucking dare you. You don’t deserve to touch her, let alone draw blood. Trash.” He throws him back hard, and his voice is so cold I find myself pinned in place.

Ronan doesn’t sound like this.

Ronan is sweet. My soft, sensitive best friend who never admits to needing help whenever things become so much. Ronan is harmless jokes and keeping too much to himself. He isn’t this.

He isn’t a monster.

But when Jonah reaches a hand out towards the knife and Ronan suddenly drives the heel of his boot down onto the back of the man’s hand, I suddenly have to re-evaluate that thought. He doesn’t let up, or kick his hand back. As I watch, Ronan slowly grinds down with his heel, until I swear I hear bone crunching and Jonah’s gasps of pain become loud, agonized wailing. He thrashes like a hooked fish, his other hand still staunching the blood flow from his stomach. But when he’s forced to snatch it free in order to grab at Ronan’s jeans, my friend takes advantage.

Without a word, he turns and kicks Jonah in the stomach.

Hard.

Hard enough the fresh blood shines in the lights from the carousel, and when Ronan kicks him in the stomach again, he spits up blood all over the top of Ronan’s shoe.

“No, you don’t get to die that easily.” Ronan’s words come out in a cold sneer and he swoops down, fisting his hand in Jonah’s hood. Not hesitating in the least, he turns and drags him to me across the pier, ignoring the man’s cries of pain as his broken, bleeding body is manhandled further.

Ronan throws him down in front of me, Jonah’s face close to my shoes even as I jerk myself back.

“Apologize,” he snarls, kneeling down behind him. “And I’ll end your suffering.”

Jonah shakes his head and struggles to his knees, one hand clasping his stomach. “You can’t kill me,” he wheezes. “The others will kill you. Cletus, and Benji, and–"

The laugh that Ronan lets loose sends a chill down my spine. My fingers curl against the pier and my eyes slide to his, no longer having any interest for the broken man drooling blood onto the wood below.

“What a sad little lie to tell yourself,” he all but purrs, and his hand reaches out, fingers curling in Jonah’s hair. “But let’s be honest.” In a quick, harsh movement, he slams Jonah’s forehead against the pier, so hard and unexpected that I gasp and flinch.

Ronan doesn’t even look at me. He does it again.

And again.

“You know they’ll be just as dead as you by the time the night ends. Now apologize, Jonah.” He slams his head into the pier again.

“Apologize.”

Slam.

“I can’t hear you.”

Slam.

“I said–”

“He’s dead,” I gasp, my voice shaking as I say it. I can’t look away, and the butterflies in my stomach are back, though they flutter around frantically, causing nausea to follow in their wake, as I watch Ronan hold up Jonah’s limp head, blood running down his broken, dented forehead.

In the unsteady, flickering light, my wide eyes find Ronan’s. “He–he’s dead Ro,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “You can stop now. He’s dead.”

Ronan meets my gaze, hand still holding the back of Jonah’s hood. The look there is one I’ve never seen before, and it sends a shiver up my spine. His head tilts, he blinks, and suddenly, my best friend is back behind those eyes. He drops Jonah to the floor and kneels in front of me quickly, reaching up to trace the cut on my face. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Sable,” he murmurs. “I got a little carried away.” he glances back at the body, looking sheepish, before helping me to my feet.